300 days and some to spare
by TCFactory
Summary: In which Azir is done, Lux needs ten hugs and a bunny, Karthus lost the music sheets (again!), Darius is drowning in paperwork, Caitlyn deserves a raise, Viktor didn't sign up for any of this and Xerath really wants a window. Life as always at the Institute of War.
1. Foreword

**Foreword  
**

Well, as awkward as it is to start on a glorified Author's Note, just this once please bear with me. Or jump straight in, fearless reader, if that suits you more.

I mostly need this to have a place for any content warnings. The setting itself lends for a less serious tone, but the champions being themselves (and more than one of them insane, violent and/or murderous) so blanket warning for those themes. Also unreliable narrator from chapter to chapter. If anything more specific pops up, I'll add them below if needed. If I forget please remind me.

That would be all for now, please enjoy and consider leaving a review if you do! Like most authors, I too run on insane amounts of coffee and constructive comments.


	2. Echoes

**A.N.:** We are back with a less than happy reunion. Although it could be worse, I suppose. Please enjoy.

* * *

Silence. All around him it was silence, soothing, all-encompassing, _suffocating_. Of course, he was long past the need for air, but at times he still couldn't shake the urge to draw breath. The muscle memory remained, even lacking the muscles and lungs necessary.

Even after all this time – how long was it? Years, decades, centuries, _too long_. – it hurt, panic bubbling up in his core as he tried to breathe but _couldn't_. Wrapped in the deafening silence he screamed – he _roared_ , a sound of rage and anguish and the thick, cold walls echoed it back to him, amplified until he collapsed, drawing his shell tight around him to block out - to trap inside - the sound.

This had happened before, he vaguely recalled. A different darkness, a different room, a different echo – was it him screaming then or someone else? There was someone else, yes. He didn't scream at first, the other. Later, however, when the walls started to feel too close, too heavy, when there was no doubt they were buried and forgotten, left to rot, he found his voice, deep as rolling thunder.

One could lose itself in the rumble and that he did, let the echo wash over him and erase the outside world. Until the last note died away, he could pretend, focusing on the sound waves resonating through his core, that this was all, that he was at peace.

Then the world came crashing back, the thick, black walls of his prison all around and he realized with a start that someone invaded his sanctum. The intruder knelt on the cold stone, head bowed in respect – respect he did not deserve, never did, never will-, the low light of the room glinting off the golden hawk's head of their helmet.

It awakened a memory, a warm smile and gem-green eyes, the image worn blurry by years passed. It was puzzling, both in its simplicity and how out of place it felt, but he had no motivation to inspect it while he had something much more real to scrutinize.

"I see the summoners ensnared yet another fool," he commented, voice cold and flat. No vocal cords meant that no amount of screaming could turn his voice hoarse so he pretended that it never happened. Maybe it never did. Once the noise quieted he could never tell if it was real or just the silence echoing within him. Gods knew he had enough emptiness in him to turn a sigh into a storm.

The intruder looked up and he found himself momentarily disappointed that the sharp eyes boring into him were blue.

"Do you fancy yourself a fool, Master Xerath?" A clear, pleasant voice, its tone one of quiet wonder, but the Magus bristled at it, his temper raising.

"Insolent pest!" he snapped, lifting off his pedestal to tower over the already kneeling form. "Did they send you to torment me?" The bird rose, easily as tall as Xerath, his movements choppy. A fresh Ascended, if Xerath was any judge.

"I came on my own, driven by curiosity once I heard that the summoners stash you away in this chamber when they have no better use for you." Cruel words, but not untrue and Xerath chose not to acknowledge them. "Also, unless my hearing fails me, you have plenty of demons to torment. I do not wish to add to your burden."

Xerath sunk closer to the ground without noticing. Of course it happened, of course the stranger heard. He had no eyes to close, no ears to cover and the only way this man – bird, beast, _Ascended_ – could sneak into his presence undetected was when he was lost in the head he didn't have.

"You are rude and considerate in the same breath. Were you this infuriating before ascending, I wonder?"

"Some say I was. And you, Master Xerath?"

"Was I what?"

"Quite this stubborn in your misery."

Xerath pulsed out a wave of energy, pushing the cheeky intruder away. Lacking face, he could easily play it off as lashing out in annoyance – as the other clearly took the gesture, bending his head in apology – not as reaction to a sharp sting of panic. Someone had asked him that before, again and again, with green eyes and an exhausted kind of fondness, but he couldn't pin a name to it, couldn't recall the face or the voice and clawing at missing memories felt exactly like trying to breathe without lungs.

"I apologize if I overstepped." Xerath turned his attention back to the bird, angling the headpiece of the sarcophagus to mimic a glare.

"What do you want from me? I'm sure that the cur already told you everything about me."

"Nasus is biased. I would much prefer to hear what you have to say."

Suspicion rose in Xerath and he lashed out again, this time on purpose and knocked the bird over.

"You! Curious, was it? They told you I was insane, so you came to stare and prod at the madman, didn't you?" He moved to hover over the golden Ascended, energy cracking over the sarcophagus, reflecting his thunderous rage.

Head tilted to the side, the bird appeared sad and remarkably calm for someone in his situation.

"Almost, but not quite. You have been locked in a dark hole with a mad warrior for a thousand years. I have no doubts about the state of your sanity now. What I do have to wonder about is the state of your sanity when you committed treason."

Xerath reared up with a roar, energy arcing between his hands, ready to strike down the insolent bastard, but he let it harmlessly dissipate in the air in the last moment. The bird was infuriating, but he was not worth antagonizing the summoners – petty mages, pesky morsels – holding his leash.

"You're out of your luck, little hawk. I remember waking from agony, already in the dark, with a crocodile for company. That's all I can recall from that time." A half-truth at best, but he had only Renekton's madness, pain and those memories for company for decades upon decades upon decades and he refused to recall them for the whimsy of a freshly ascended feather duster.

"Of course. I understand." The bird hung his head again in what Xerath guessed to be disappointment. "Maybe it is for the better. Thank you for your time and patience, Master Xerath. I shall not bother you longer."

He turned to leave, but Xerath lifted a hand and pulled, exerting some of his magic to hold him back.

"Wait. Favor for a favor. I answered your question, now answer me. Why do you insist calling me 'master'?"

The bird paused, not fighting the hold, but not turning back to face Xerath either.

"Are you not a master of the arcane? You earned your title, even if your actions earned you another, less favorable one. Alas,-" He hesitated, only for a moment. "-favor for favor. The summoners plan to move you to the Shuriman main building, once the construction is finished. Do you have any request about your accommodations? A room with a view, perhaps?" The bird tilted his beak up, glancing at the bare ceiling. "Maybe even a window to the night sky."

It struck Xerath speechless, the generosity of the offer. Four walls leant heavy on him for every moment of his existence not spent in the mock battles of the summoners and the prospect of seeing the sky at his own leisure again awoke a longing he thought long forgotten.

"Who are you to offer something like that?" he demanded, his invisible hold tightening to a point that must have been painful. The golden Ascended just chuckled with bitter humor, the sound echoing back to them in a cascade.

"Why, I am Azir, of course."

In a moment of shock his hold faltered and Azir slipped from the room, heavy magic proof door slinging shut after him. Just in time, for a moment later Xerath fell against it like a vicious beast, clawing at and pounding on the stone with fists that couldn't even scratch the surface, arcane lightning pouring from his form and crawling harmlessly over every available surface – the summoners, may the jackals feast on their innards, prepared well for his outbursts.

"COME BACK YOU COWARD! COME BACK AND FACE ME!" There was no answer from the other side of the door, but he did not cease his pounding. "HE SAID THAT YOU DIED! THEY SAID THAT YOU DIED, THAT YOU ARE DEAD AND DUST! YOU CAN'T JUST WALK AWAY LIKE THAT YOU COWARD!"

The walls echoed back his words, a cacophony of dead and dust and coward until Xerath's rage ran dry and he floated back to the center of his room, his sanctuary, his prison and chose to savor the last sounds of the echoing noise.

If Azir planned on staying true to his word and did not simply dangle the hope of better accommodations in front of him as a form of torture, he won't have to listen to the echoes much longer.

* * *

 **A.N.:** This was an older chapter I wrote when I first toyed with rebooting the series that I touched up on a bit so I'm not quite happy with it, but I don't really dare to touch it more.

Reviews and critique are always welcome and I'm exceptionally open to title suggestions. Although it might be better to stick with this, for continuity's sake.

 **Next up:** aftermath, meeting Taliyah and a peek into Azir's thoughts.


	3. Minds alike

**AN.:** It took forever to write this. This chapter was supposed to have the introduction to Taliyah, but it felt off to put it right after the Xerath meeting and then the whole thing just ran too long so in the end I threw my plan out the window, pushed the Taliyah confrontation to the next chapter and went with something different. Please enjoy. :)

* * *

Despite outward appearances, the meeting with Xerath left Azir shaken. How could it have not? To hear Xearth scream in the dark awoke his pity, even if he came to him with the firm determination to confront the traitor.

The idea to hide his identity until the last moment was a sudden one, but he didn't regret it in bit. He suspected that if he marched in with his heart on his sleeve and ready for confrontation, so to speak, he would not have noticed how deep Xerath's mental instability ran.

Azir was walking through the courtyard, deep in thought still, when he heard someone call out to him. The voice turned out to belong to the one and only Draven who disentangled himself from a huge group of fans and rushed to him with a broad grin.

"Azir, my man! Just the guy I needed." The overly familiar tone irked Azir, but the Noxian wound an arm around his own with a vice-like grip before he could escape the hold. "I was looking for you everywhere like you wouldn't believe! Could we have just a word? In private."

The last bit was tagged on like an afterthought in a much quieter tone. It made Azir curious enough that the ascended let himself be dragged out of the limelight to a secluded spot behind a few huge crates of building materials. From the look of the place, it was probably one of the spots the clerks sneaked off to smoke, well out of the way.

Draven took a hasty look around to make sure they were well out of earshot and not visible from the main buildings and immediately took a few steps back to remove himself from Azir's personal space.

"Sorry 'bout that. Can't fall out of character in front of my audience. Gotta keep up appearances and all." This was perhaps the first time he heard Draven use an indoor voice. He suspected that Draven was capable of setting aside the showmanship, being a de facto member of the Noxian high command, but it was a relief that the man spared him the tiresome theatrics, at least in private.

He wished he could smile. Serious for once and slouching slightly in the cold, Draven looked almost like a different person; it reminded him eerily of someone he once knew.

Someone he once was.

"It is no trouble. I understand perfectly."

"You do?" Draven seemed taken aback.

"Yes indeed." Azir hesitated just a moment before he decided to elaborate. After all, it all could be found in the history books if someone was good at reading between the lines. "I was the first member of the royal family for several generations who showed any talent in the arcane. As such the priests and the loyalist went to great lengths to present me as a chosen Mage King, favorite of the gods." He raised his arms and struck a pose before taking up a more relaxed stance once again. "It made dealing with the nobility significantly easier that they believed the gods themselves may smite them if they openly rebelled against me, thus I never bothered to shatter the illusion."

Draven listened with almost scary intensity. Definitely not something Azir would have expected from a man who played the role of the self-centered showman with such obvious enjoyment. The information seemed to be new to him and his interest appeared genuine, so Azir didn't particularly mind.

"Wow. That's… wow. Cool. So all the tricks with the sand…" he trailed off and made a gesture with his hand, trying to illustrate Azir's magic, still clearly intrigued.

"Ah. No. I am a necromancer. The sand is a novelty."

It was highly entertaining to watch Draven's expression go through a series of rapid changes that started somewhere around shock and, oddly enough, ended smack dab in the middle of a triumphant grin.

"Yes! Vanquisher of Plagues! I knew that had to mean something. Vladimir is going to go bananas when I tell him."

Now it was Azir's turn to be surprised. Lack of scrutiny over practicing necromancy was one thing – he knew it well that the art wasn't as frowned upon in Noxus as in most places – he could even understand that one might know of necromancy's more practical uses

He did not expect to hear it all from Draven.

"Have you read up on me?" he asked with mild suspicion.

"Of course I did. I check out every celebrity who joins up." Checking out possible competition then. That made marginally more sense. "It's not a secret, right?"

"Hardly. As you have pointed it out, Vanquisher of Plagues has been one of my official titles for a long time now. You can harass the hemomancer with the fact that you figured it out sooner than him."

He suspected that there was some disagreement between Draven and Vladimir, although he couldn't pinpoint its cause, but the downright giddy expression that spread on Draven's face was confirmation enough that his suspicion had some basis to it.

"Is that all?" Azir asked with a hint of impatience. "As much as I enjoy this _tête-à-tête_ , I have duties to attend to." Draven narrowed his eyes and Azir briefly wondered if he misspoke.

"What's that word? The tet-sumthing. Sounds Demcian."

"I can truthfully say that I have no idea."

"But you just said it!"

"I _died_ long before the foundation of Demacia. All my knowledge of temporary languages in magically imparted. I am possibly the least qualified person on the matter of linguistics." He crossed his arms and glared, as if that would prevent the Noxian from getting any more off topic.

"Riiight. Sorry, I forgot. I was looking for you because Jericho wants you to swing around to our HQ and get that stone-mage girl under control. She's been a nuisance all morning." It took him a long moment to decipher that Draven meant Taliyah. The young stoneweaver was firm in her determination to do good, but very misguided in her actions and was as a result the cause of a great many headaches.

"Very well, I shall see what I can do to reign her in."

"Much appreciated." Draven hesitated for a spell before he went on. "There's also a personal request. A small favor, if you'd grant it." Azir gave a small gesture with his hand that he should continue. "I'd like to borrow someone from your staff. The photographer chick, the pretty one who made your promotion pictures." He mimics the act of taking a photo which honestly wouldn't help any if Azir didn't already know the person in question.

"Seha'Din? I suppose so. However I hope you do realize that I can not order her to date you if she was not inclined to do so on her own." In his place, Azir would have been insulted by an accusation like that, but Draven encountered the claim often enough to shrug it off with a sigh.

"Nah. I know what people say, but everyone who gets a piece of Draaaven-" He struck a seductive pose and gave a lewd wink. "- does so because they want to. I need the expertise of, ugh... Sedin?"

"Seha'Din." He could see Draven silently mouthing the name a couple of times.

"I'll need to practice that. Anyhow, our own photographer is a hack and the whole big bad barbarian theme they went with in every photo shoot ever really hurt Darius' rep. He's a general for fuck's sake, not Garen Crownguard, Noxian edition." Azir chuckled slightly at the Executioner's anger, but couldn't find it in him to disagree. Garen was a decent enough fellow, based on their limited interactions, but definitely not the sharpest sword in the armory.

"That last series of photos your lady made were good stuff. Subtle symbolism and whatnot, that's the stuff people like." Azir held up a hand before Draven could go on.

"Restoring your brother's good image is as noble a cause as any. I'll tell her to arrange it. Now, if you would excuse me, I need to prevent young Taliyah from causing an international incident and I suppose your adoring crowd would be most delighted to have you back."

"Yeah, right. Thank you for your time, emperor." Draven, reading loud and clear that he had been dismissed gave a parting nod and took his leave. Azir waited a few more minutes before following him, heading towards the Noxian main building.

There was no love lost between him and Taliyah, but as the head of the Shuriman delegation it was his responsibility to keep the stoneweaver out of trouble and gods help him she found trouble everywhere she went.

He squared his shoulders and prayed to whatever deity may listen that she would be settled with words only.

* * *

 **AN.: I'm tentatively looking for title suggestions** , because someone had a good point that the current one sounds very much like the continuation of something.

I'm generally speaking not a big fan of the 'Demacia now fears magic' change, but it sounded like an interesting enough challenge to try and write around, so Shurima will be leaning towards Noxus when it comes to political alliances.

I'm having ideas and throwing them at the wall to see if they stick in any vaguely entertaining pattern or color combination. Apologies in advance for any odd concepts that will undoubtedly rear their heads up as the story goes. I hope you'll enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy coming up with them.


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